damn regret, i try to forget

My life is split in two; the moments overwhelmed by HIM, & the moments that I am TRULY alive.

In my darkest hours, YOU are the one casting shadows.

Am I content to fade into the scene? Or do I desire a more prominent role?

.........................................

anonymous

I burn for your eyes upon mine, but I know you won't glance my way.
I tremble for your arms out reaching; they don't leave your side for mine.
I long for your smile, so playful; sad that it's not meant for me.
I ache for your voice in my ears; instead I lay here, with your songs, playing softly, in the night.

Alone. Dreaming.

santa baby!

Last Sunday my kids went to see Santa. They sat on his lap & did the usual, "I've been good this year ... I'd like ..." Santa gave each child an envelope. With $5.

Now I don't know about everyone else, but Santa always gave me candy canes, and usually the cheap-ass-50-for-a-dollar kind. We're in a recession & Santa's handing out Lincolns?! I was ready to sit on Santa's lap myself!

Is this part of the economic stimulus package? Or does Santa have stock in oil companies. Come to think of it, he does own quite a bit a land at the North Pole.....

addiction

Hi ... my name is Triana.

*Hi Triana*

I, am a crackberry addict.

*gasps*

If I don't have my crackberry in my hand at all times, my thumbs start twitching & I will immediately fall into an abnormal state of panic which could end in convulsions and head trama.

*murmurs*

My friends have alienated me & my family doesn't understand. Only my crackberry buddies are there for me. Iv been known to waste whole days away because of my crackberry. I don't have to think when I'm on my crackberry - its so numbing.

*silence*

My crackberry addiction affects my driving & my work performance ... and I spend too much money on it! *sits back down*

scooby snacks

I'm fully aware that my title is not in the least bit indicative of what I'm going to post 2day. That's me though. Random. The things in my head rarely make sense.

-------------

Kurt: I need to stop texting while I'm driving. It's dangerous.

Me: Yeah, I know what u mean. I try to stick to phone conversations on my ear piece & not texting, etc.

Kurt *in his BIG BOY serious tone*: Don't ever talk on ur phn while driving. It's a proven study that talking on ur phn is too much of a distraction.

Me: ... (didn't u just say that u TEXT while driving too) ... Actually, Kurt, I don't think that talking on my phone is any more distracting than, oh say, kids screaming in the back seat, carrying on a conversation w/someone in the front seat, tuning a radio, eating fast food, reading billboards or daydreaming. (All of which, I am guilty of - including and not limited to, putting on make-up.)

Kurt: No, I read an article about talking on ur cell phn while driving. Then I started watching & noticed that every "idiot" driver in front of me was on a cell phn. People would be good drivers if it weren't for cell phones.

Me: So the "study" u just mentioned wasn't really a scientific study then?

Kurt: Well yes, I conducted a scientific study. I watched people driving.

Me: And your discovery would then mean that there were no bad drivers or car accidents before cell phones?

Kurt: Well there weren't nearly as many.

Me: Are you aware that ANYone can write an article about ANYthing? I mean just look at how many articles state that Bigfoot is real or that Elvis is alive?

Kurt: Elvis is alive.

Me: End of discussion. I give up.

------------

The kids are making Christmas cards tonight. My daughter, 9, accidentally wrote: To Aunt Sew (on Aunt Sue's card, not knowing how to spell "Sue"). Aunt Sue happens to be a quilter by trade. The card now reads: To Aunt Sewing Sue. Creativity at its best (or worst).

----------------

HA! I was being a "forward thinker" earlier - my kids just went to the kitchen for evening snacks & came back with fruit snack ... Scooby Doo fruit snacks ... thus Scooby snack! It DOES make sense; I win!

Don't u love ripping open the package of fruit snacks & looking for the blue one? U know, the fruit snack that's different from the rest of the fruit snacks? Some packages have one & some don't. It's like finding the golden ticket! (Maybe the "fruit" part of the snack went to my head.)

fairy tales ....... and fairies

Randomly I told my bff that "Life would be so easy if I could just settle........." - meaning that I have this insane fairy tale dream that often gets in my way of LIFE.

Bless her pea pick'n soul...her reply: "Settling means no one will bring u your forgotten pee strainer"

Awwwww .... It brought tears to my eyes :(

Then I broke down and confessed that it may actually be allergies combined with lotion on my hands that I just rubbed my tired eyes with that could be causing the tears. But it sounds better the other way.

.............

As I'm writing this blog, my oldest son, 8, rips his shirt up to his chest, stuffs a silver, plastic sherrif's badge INTO HIS PANTS, and proceeds to dance around the room. WHAT. the FUCK. have I done to my offspring???!! Can I possibly get a refund? This one is defective.

antics

My first week of work went like this:

Day 2: Inadvertently saying that the woman on the phone was mean (at least I didn't call her a bitch, which is what I was truly thinking) when I *thought* I was on hold. Yes, say it, you know you wanna...dumbass huh? The best part - she wasted no time putting me in my place. My face red, my eyes wide, my co-worker instantly knew what happened & she was rolling. In a matter of seconds, the wave of titillating laughter was all across the building. I half assed attempted a rescue by telling her I was talking about a rude co-worker that (imaginarily) walked past. She pretended to accept that, thankfully, and I learned a superb lesson in no time flat.


Day 3: Standing over the extra large printer wondering why I can't figure out how 2 dial a number on it to send a fax. Note to Triana: it's not a fax machine. Oooops. It looked just like the printer/fax machine at my old job. No wonder every time I hit send it just gave me copies.

Day 4: Repeatedly running n2 the only door inside the building that doesn't open without pushing the "door" button. Every other door - push down on handle, push the door open & walk thru. Trick door - push button, push handle down, push door open, walk thru. Triana's version of the trick door: push handle down and walk into the door as I'm pushing it "open". I seem to leave a step out. I swear there's a camera on that door. Somewhere, some one is watching & giggling, "oh, look! Here she comes!"

Day 5: I get my own desk! Complete with my own phone! And a hands-free-head set, with a cord, attached 2 my phone! So that every time I get up to walk away from my desk & forget that I'm wearing it, well, let's just say that I'm "reminded" every time I hit the end of the cord & my head is jerked backwards as my hair is ripped from my head. Go ahead and laugh. My co-workers do.

still

At night. When I walk. Out the door. Into the rain. Alone. Empty.

I'm still me.

In the morning. When I wake. With tears dried. Dreams left behind. Confused. Empty.

I'm still me.
...

Where are you?

excitable

They say you learn something new everyday. Today I've learned that mascara is NOT microwavable.

Do I need to explain this?

phone hysteria

I'm posting this from my PHONE!! How crazy is that?! So, here's the scoop...

Almost a year & 1/2 ago I had a Razr VG3 that I thought was cool shit. Internet connection, myspace mobile, email at my fingertips. But NOW I have a BlackBerry Curve (going on 8 months) that I just connected 2 the Internet 2day. This thing is not leaving my hands!! I was addicted 2 my phn b4, but now I'm going 2 be a full blown junkie :)

An advanced appology 2 everyone whom I might ignore now that my fingers are permanantly attached 2 my BlackBerry. And u thought it was bad before... Little do u know!

I have applications for mobile versions of myspace (much improved!), facebook, and 4 different email accts. I can IM, blog, mojo ... Anything! I'll never get any sleep! :)

Stay tuned for more info!!

chubi

Last night I rode my boke. What’s a boke you ask? It’s what comes out of frozen fingers on text messaging, while riding said “boke” after midnight. Yeah, I hit the “o” instead of “i”. Ooops. It happens pretty frequently when texting. I used to have a Motorola Razr & I got used to reading text messages where one letter was a key tap or two off. Now I have a BlackBerry with a qwerty keyboard & my text message mishaps are a little different. Before, my “boke” would’ve been a “bhke” or “bjke”. Personally, I’m kind of fond of my boke.

I often get “covld haue” or such mishaps. It’s easy to do; u & v are so similar looking and only one tap away from each other on most phones. Back to the boke story, I happened to text that to Kurt, who’s always harassing me about my texting skills. I text to frequently, short hand too many words, or throw in a simple misplaced letter. He teased my all night about the boke. Then he later texted me that I would get a “percenatge” of the millions he’s going to make from turning my life into a screen play (why not??). My come back? “What’s a percenatge? Is that something like a percentage? U can borrow my boke if u’d like 2, sometime.” Ha!

One time I texted him asking if he’d bring his phn chrgr cuz my battery was almost dead (we have the same phone). He called me & left a voicemail babbling about bringing a portable charger or did I just want him to bring me a new battery. WHAT? I was a lil confused. Then he called again so I stepped outside to answer my phone. He asked me if my battery was dead or just low. I’m thinking, “well, I’m on my phone, so it’s OBVIOUSLY NOT DEAD” (what the hell has he been smoking??). But he keeps firing off questions that I can barely slip an answer into before he goes on asking the next one.

Short version: Kurt: “Will your car start?”
“Yes, but it’s not here.” (??? I’m still confused where he’s going w/this)
“Oh. Is it at your house?”
“Yes… I rode over here w/April. I was just going to plug it into her van while we’re inside.”
“So, you want me to stop by your house to plug it into the battery charger?” At which point, completely lost & confused (how in the hell is he going to plug my phone, which is in my hand, into my car, which is at my house, where I am NOT. Men make things so damn complicated.) I stammered: “Kurt, I just need a phone charger so it doesn’t die before I get home. What’s that have to do with my car?”
“OH! You just want a phone charger. Ok. I’ve got that. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Did I miss something here? Apparently “phn chrgr” was misleading. He read that as “my car battery is dead” and he was going to bring me a new battery or a portable battery charger for my car. ???? I have to spell things out for him. He’s not one of the millions of Americans that can read w/o the vowels. He says my text messages never make sense to him. So tell me, people that I text, are my text messages that difficult & misleading??

My ALL time favorite though …. “chubi”

During a conversation my lil sis & I have one late night, about our dear mother, Casey says, “she get 600 a mo n foot (not exactly sure how she got “foot” here, my best guess is that’s supposed to be “food” – but that’s not the best part) …

… n chubi bout bein broke all day.”

I stared for a minute. Racking my brain, staring at the letters on my phone, imaging the letters on her phone to see where the mis-stroke could be. It’s like solving a riddle. I love riddles & challenges. I changed a letter here & there trying to make a coherent word when suddenly I realized she was exactly one stroke off on each letter, some forward and some backward.

“c” was one stroke too many for “b” – “h” was one stroke short for “i” – “u” one stroke too many for “t” – “b” one stroke short of “c” – & last but not least, “i” one stroke too many for “h”

Everybody together now, “What’s that spell?” B I T C H

I nearly fell out of my bed laughing. She meant to say “bitch bout bein broke” and instead “chubi”??? Tears, laughter, gasping for air. I texted her mistake back to her & told her I was “pussing myself” when I had meant “pissing myself”. Seriously, the “u” & “i” are right next to each other on my keyboard! This caused her to crack up.

Chubi is my new word. Hola chubi! (No one will ever know!)

almond joy ...

… has nuts; mounds don’t.

Laaa-st Ni-iight … (that part sounds better with music, and well, with someone better singing it).

Enough with the preliminaries. It’s nearly Halloween. Tomorrow in fact. Yesterday there was an event at the North Side High School for elementary students to dress up, play a variety of games, and collect a small sack full of tootsie roll-ish candies. The last game they played was a spin-off of musical chairs and the winner of each round got to choose a sack of cookies or small candy bars off the prize table. Tyler picked snicker doodle cookies & Bri grabbed a sandwich bag stuffed with snack sized Butterfinger, Almond Joy, Hershey bar & mini Reese cup. At home each counted their candy pieces & miraculously found both had exactly 64 pieces.

It was their dad’s night & he doesn’t want to deal with a sugar rush, so he asked them to leave the candy here. They each left their bags on the table. I took off to run some errands & returned home to find tootsie rolls scattered all over the floor. I thought the cats had jumped onto the table and found something to bat around. They’re about six months old & full of “fun” – in kitty terms, everything is investigated and smacked around for possible fun.

I noticed they had shredded the wal-mart baggy the candy had previously been contained in. As I start picking up tootsie rolls & “tootsies” (a generic, fruit-flavored version of tootsie rolls?), I observe an Almond Joy wrapper. Odd that the wrapper is shredded but the candy bar is nowhere to be seen. Great, I think to myself, I’m going to step on or possibly sleep on an open Almond Joy. Wait; is that also a Butterfinger wrapper? Was there an actual person in my house stealing the kids’ candy & leaving the torn wrappers behind as gloating evidence? I studied the wrappers for a minute. A person would have pulled the wrapper open by the corners; this was definitely torn (tattered) in the middle of where the candy bar would’ve been like it had been gnawed open by a giant rat. Rats???

Cat’s don’t eat chocolate. Surely they would’ve gone for even the snicker doodles before the Butterfinger or Almond Joy. Sure enough, there are tiny little chunks of Butterfinger spread through out my carpet – but no sign of that awful Almond Joy. Coconut?? Seriously? And what in the hell did they do with the almond? Eat it too?

My life is strange.

“Today’s morning news: the hamster survived the carnage, but only a few parts of the Butterfinger were recovered from the scene. Sadly, the Almond Joy is still MIA. We’ll keep you posted on further discoveries on this tragic day. Now a moment of silence for the mourners.”
Good thing the kids don’t do a candy re-count. They would also believe the cats ate around 20 tootsie rolls.

Now that part, I’ll take credit for.

mystic

In the face of adversity, I sit here.
Staring.
Unchanging.
You will not change me, for I have already changed.

shame

dear mother…

Can I write this?

dear mother: please do not call again.

Is this too harsh? My soul is bare.

dear mother: please do not call again. all your apologies are flushed away. you are still the same. them over us. the boyfriends vs your children. you would let your children drown (you would send them away). Oh! how this man is different! you say. i have quit listening. please do not call again.

forgotten

tidbits of humor 10-25-08

Dear World: I’m pleased to meet you.

The other night I was helping my son do a crossword puzzle. As smart as people tend to think I am, I struggle with crossword puzzles. But just for the “fun” of it, I decided to give the incredulous world of crossword puzzles yet another try. Obviously, I’m not one to learn from failure. My son, 8 years old, isn't getting very many of the answers. In fact, he has four filled in on the whole page. As I glance through the clues, looking for easy ones I find this: Marathon (four letters). So I ask the kids, what’s a marathon? Tyler’s face light’s up as he says, “Oh, I know this! A GAS STATION!”

Wow.

A couple of weeks ago I was shopping with my mother for the afternoon. In the checkout I spotted a watermelon flavored laffy taffy. Yummy! I haven’t had one of those since I was a kid, so I bought it. While walking across the parking lot to her vehicle I snagged a few bites & then threw it onto the front seat before walking into the next store. Fast forward about 45 minutes where mom & I are sitting out front of the kids’ school when the doors open & children start escaping. I open the car door & step out to wrestle my kids away from their friends so we can head home. However, I feel something a little odd when I try to get out of the car; my clothes don’t feel quite right. Kind of like when you step out of the bathroom & you just KNOW your skirt is tucked into your undies or something foolish. Mom says, “Uh, Triana…” and as I turn to look I catch a glimpse of something moving behind me. Or wait, not quite moving behind me, but more like behind me moving when I move. EEEKK! I grab the rug that used to be a seat cover but is now my ass flag. As I pull in confusion on the rug, I see a sticky string of ….. duh ta da! TAFFY! Stuck to my bum & the rug in a nice pink trail. YUMMY. Can’t wait to sink my teeth into that taffy again.

Also, this is how my life goes: October 7th I had a pretty important birthday party to attend for Bree Olsen. The day before I’m trying to pull together last minute errands for the party while still getting my normal daily duties done. So, I’m breaking in my new high heel sandals (at the bargain price of ONE whole dollar! Fucking GO ME!) while doing the laundry. I also need to tan so I go to the laundry mat that has the $2 tan special while your doing laundry. As I’m leaving the laundry mat w/my big clothes tub piled HIGH, my feet greasy & sweaty from tanning, and me just plain CLUMSY – the combination leads to … oh yeah, that would be me tripping in the parking lot, dropping my entire clothes basket on it’s side, and stumbling into two guys that are staring at me. I twisted my ankle but that’s nothing to having my clean laundry scattered amidst the gravel parking lot & my bra & assortment of odd barely there undies at these two grown men’s feet. N-I-C-E. Luckily, my face was already beat red from the tanning bed so there really wasn’t much blushing for either of them to notice. But I did get a quick lecture on being more careful – from two complete strangers! Aye!

I was chastised for not mentioning this in my last “funny” post – so here it is April! My junior year of high school I wore a fake nose ring to school for many months. I played basketball & we were not allowed to wear jewelry during a game, so before games I would do a quick “jewelry check” that resembled either a catholic prayer or crazy baseball signals, as I checked fingers, belly button, ears, neck line, & lastly, my nose. Coach always got a good chuckle out of watching me do this just before leaving the locker room.

My best friend, also my locker partner, my basketball teammate, and often my ride home from practice, would not talk to me for nearly two months during my nose ring phase. I thought she would just get over it & I truly could not understand WHY she would throw such a big deal over it. I was always pulling crazy, loopy stunts, so what’s the big deal? It’s not like I actually put an extra hole in my nose! We had almost all of the same classes, ate lunch at the same table, spent nearly every minute of the day in close vicinity of each other, yet she would not utter a word to me, nor hardly glance in my direction. Finally, it came out. Not my nose ring, but the reason she stopped talking to me. Her reason: I was being FAKE. According to her, it would’ve been acceptable if it were REAL. Ummm, wow. I have had my hair seventy billion colors, wore up to nine necklaces at one time, had seven piercings in my ears alone, can’t even count how many rings I’d pack onto my fingers & toes, and there is no end to the other atrocious moves I’ve pulled, but she’s peeved at me for faking a nose piercing. Where does that come from?

About five years after high school, I happen to be digging thru some of my old belongings & found the above mentioned offensive nose ring. I was going on a date with my boyfriend & his mom was going to watch the kids for the evening. Just for giggles I pulled out that old nose ring & put it on while getting dressed to go. My boyfriend crinkled his nose & rolled his eyes at me, but didn’t say a word. I had showed it to him earlier in the day & retold the high school story, which is never nearly as funny as when it really happened. We had to stop & get gas on the way out of town so as I’m sitting in his truck staring around I hear a honk from the vehicle next to us. It happens to be his mom w/my kids (3 & 4yrs old)! My daughter’s look was hilarious as she asked, “Mom, what happened to you? What’s on your face?” My boyfriend’s mom rolled her eyes and dryly stated, “Don’t worry kids, she’s just trying to relive her youth. When she comes back, she’ll still be your mom.”

Will I though?

touching 10-10-08

My oldest son reminds me of Forest Gump. He is soooo in his own lil world, I really don’t know what to do with him most of the time. He twitches his fingers. He walks on his toes. He makes odd noises & mumbles 24/7. He grinds his teeth when he sleeps. He’s a mess. So am I. I threaten to duck tape him constantly. You know the saying, “Silence is golden, Duct Tape is silver”??? I want that painted on the walls of my house. Maybe one day he’ll get the point.

He loves to play board games & card games. He sets his power ranger action figures up as other players, deals them in, and plays by himself for hours on end. He’s gone through nearly a whole pack of Yahtzee scorecards & Clue notepads from playing like this in just the last month. He sings along to nearly every word of any Blue October cd I pop in. His handwriting is amazing for any boy his age. He can spell nearly any word without thinking too much about it. He knows all 50 states & capitals & is fascinated by odd facts – like who was the shortest President. He’s eight.

My four-year-old son loves his cartoons (at his dad’s house, of course). He tells me about fixing the combine when the wheel falls off (I enjoy picturing this one, let me tell you!). His chipper, “Hello momma, love you, bye!” as he runs off to the next adventure brings a smile to my face even though nothing can erase the miles between us. He can stick his tongue inside his nose & even lick his own elbow. Yes, it is possible. I have pictures. It’s his duty as the bully of the family to disagree with every word anyone else mutters & to have first claim to any toy that someone else might find interesting. He doesn’t cry when I leave, but he always asks if I’ll stay.

My darling two-year-old picks flowers (dandelions mostly) and brings them to me, his arm out stretched & his head bowed like he’s prince charming. His chubby cheeks bounce when he runs & he rarely keeps his clothes on. He begs to be pushed in the swing & he follows his bubby & sissy at every chance. He sneaks candy from the kitchen drawer & hides his arm behind his back with the most innocent face.

My daughter draws pictures of cartoon characters. She’s really good. She likes to sing & dance with me in the evenings. She hugs me and says, “I love you momma” & then slaps me on the rump & runs off giggling. She is starving 24/7 & will put on Oscar worthy acts to try to sway me into believing her. She would eat my cupboards bare within a week if I didn’t keep a sharp eye out.

She never unrolls her sock, when she actually manages to get them into the laundry tub. Her jeans are always inside out as well. She picks up every penny or coin she sees on the ground. She passes out my cell phone number to her 4th grade friends so that I have lil girls calling me every few days. She makes up random cheers, choreographs dances to whatever I’m listening to for the evening, and smiles just as often as she bursts into tears.

I happened to have Sarah McLaughlin’s Mirrorball cd in tonight as I was cleaning up the kitchen from our dinner mess. I love to sing away the stress and worries from my heart & soul in the evenings. I know I cannot carry a tune. My singing is horrendous; but I’ll belt it out like I’m Bette Midler or Mariah Carey. As I sat down to write tonight, she wraps her arms around me and whispers in my ear, “I love your singing momma. Your voice is beautiful.”

My kids may not have good hearing … but they have my heart.

summer's end 10-09-08

Summer’s over. As I sit here, I’m shivering & my toes are cold as ice, even with socks on. I despise wearing socks but I’ll deal with it rather than be cold.

I had a fun experiment this summer: No couch & no t.v. In fact, I just acquired a kitchen table & chairs last weekend. Before that I had an open, empty house. Only beds & dressers.

No, I’m not crazy. Ok so that might be debatable… but here’s why I came to this decision.

I’ve been living in Fort Wayne since October of 2006. Before that I was in KY for 5 years. I have many family members & high school friends in the Northern IN region. During the 5 years that I lived out of state I saw more of my friends and family up here than I have for year & half since I moved back up.

It seems like the less distance between us, the more we take for granted the ability to spend time together. The excuse is ALWAYS “I’m (We’re) too busy.” Busy doing what? Oh, sitting on the couch, watching t.v. “Relaxing.”

I ditched my couch. And every t.v. in the house. I have a 7” portable DVD player on hand for emergency use.

So, yeah, maybe I missed out on a few good t.v. shows, or watching the news in the mornings. And there were a few nights where I simply craved curling up and watching a movie before bed. But the rewards have been far better than those few losses.

My oldest two kids are 8 & 9. They have learned that they don’t HAVE to have t.v. to keep entertained; that families can still go on bike rides together, play card games & board games together, or play basketball together. We’ve had two on two soccer games, days of Frisbee & disc golf, long nights of Clue & Yatzee, Phase 10 & Uno! We’ve made regular visits to family & friends – and made it more interesting by bike riding there. Some nights we spend the last 30 minutes before bed each curled up with a book.

We have taken the time to ride our bikes to the grocery store & library, among other places. We have walked to & from school just for the fresh air & exercise. The kids pick out at least one fiction & at least one non-fiction book every time we go to the library, which is nearly every other day. We’ve attended many live concerts (free!) at Jefferson Pointe & the downtown library and danced until we laughed too hard to carry on.

Most importantly, they’ve learned that life is NOT too busy to make time for the significant people in our lives. You can’t get time back. Spend it wisely.

We still bundle up & enjoy outdoor activities, and we still play games together or spend some time reading, but I am going to bring a t.v. back in. The reason: because my mom’s staying w/us & she’s constantly complaining about NOT having one. I’ve made her “suffer” for over a month thinking that she’d see how much more fun it is to not have the damn thing in the house. I lost that battle.

She says her eyes hurt too much to read. Games just aren’t interesting enough for her (when she’s here by herself). Her body hurts too much to go bike riding or playing any sports. She doesn’t want to visit my friends as much as I like to & doesn’t always like to visit the rest of our family without me (family politics – aren’t they wonderful).

I gave in. I can keep my kids quiet without a t.v. … but not my mother …

message in a bottle 10-08-08

I HAVE things to talk about. And better things to do with my time.

But for the Bitch that thinks I don’t, I know where she’ll be in a month’s time: in the same boat as the rest of the worthless tramps. The same place she is right now.

Laugh it up NY. You’re blind, clueless, and playing the part of the fool.

beautiful 10-06-08

I love old houses. Old scenery. Walking downtown, or basically anywhere for that matter. Staring into windows yellowed with age. Some broken & boarded up. The stories these houses could tell. The lives lived & the footsteps passed thru. My mind wanders to when the house was built, the plans drawn up. What was the inspiration, the dreams meant for this house? Did it bring joy? Was there happiness or sadness in this house? What would my life have been like in a house that grand, that intricate? What’s going on in it now?

Even the not-so-grand, simple but falling apart. What stories do they hold?

I am fascinated by other people’s houses, by other people’s lives.

Because I hate my own.

i don't want to shrink 10-05-08

What is the deal with old people having their tongues hanging out of their mouths? Sure, I understand that with age, muscles start to loose their strength, but surely to goodness, I’m saying keep the damn thing in your mouth!

Flicking it like a lizard to taste the air or what? Sometimes just hanging, like a dog trying to cool it’s body

Seriously, the other day I saw this women, she was maybe somewhere between 50 & 60 years old. She didn’t have a tooth in her mouth to smoosh a pea with. Does your mouth shrink when all your teeth are gone, simply leaving no room for your tongue? How does this happen? I was in the same store w/her for over an hour. Her tongue never stayed in her mouth. It just kind of hung there, like a red fleshy blob with nowhere else to go. I couldn’t help but stare. I wanted answers.

She carried a black purse bag thing that she had lined with a walmart-type bag. What is that? I was worried. What if she started pulling chicken eyes or frog guts from that plastic bag lined purse?? Stranger things have happened.

I turned to my own over-50-year-old mother who was with me & told her if she acted like that in 10-15 years, I would commit her to a mental hospital without consulting any other family member. No questions asked.

She responded that she was glad I’d give her 10-15 years. And that she would prefer to be shot.

Can someone put that in her will?

if only 10-02-08

I am angry.
Wanting to let it go.
But then it gets worse.
Wishing to hold onto it.

Why?

Why is it always about being the ONE?
The rescue. The story line. The tragedy.
Tragic.

Darkness. You are not alone. So many others like you. Duped. Tricked. Played. Used. Same stories. Same lines. Same plays. No one wants to believe it. Everyone is special.

I’ll show you. You’re wrong.

He is not who you see him as. Look again.

ooops, politics 9-28-08

who? what? when?

My own little careless rant on politics:

In case you haven’t noticed, I’m anti-social on all political talks. I could give a rats ass about what the current hot topic political discussion is.

I’m all for Capital Punishment, sterilization as a punishment & pro-choice on abortions.

I despise seat belt laws for anyone over age 18. You can send me to stand in front of a bullet in a foreign country to line your own pockets, but I have to strap myself into my own car?? Helmets are just as useless in my opinion & no one should be able to tell me that I have to wear it.

If you smoke pot, oh well. You can kill yourself with cigarettes, why not live a doped up life? I don’t do it, but it’s your choice. Personally, I’d rather waste my money on food. I love my taste buds.

I think welfare moms & dads should have to pass drug tests before getting government (MY) money. I have no issues helping them in time of need. But fuck you if your time of need is because you drink too much, smoke too much, or have some other worthless addiction. Like I said, as long as it doesn’t affect me, I don’t care what you do w/your life. But when hard working Americans are buying you & your children food because you want to spend your itty bitty paycheck on beer, cigs, & vicodins – fuck that.

I also can’t stand government subsidized households where the women have acrylic nails, a perfect golden tan, and order pizza three times a week cuz the lazy bitch just got her nails done & doesn’t want to cook. Or has to drive three blocks to buy cigarettes. WALK. And quite fucking smoking if you can’t pay your bills!! What is that?

Past those few items, I could give a shit less what the government talks about or does. To be that big of a fish, you have to swallow some nasty hooks & live thru it. That hardens a person. Stiffens their souls. Builds calluses. No one is perfect. Large amounts of Americans vote these people into office, so somewhere along the way that individual did SOMETHING right or good. Sure, there will be fuck ups. That’s what happens. It’s the system WE built. Sit back & bitch about it because that will surely change the present events. Hot damn people, get a grip.

I don’t vote. I don’t bitch about who’s in office, whine about what a horrible shape the economy is in, or jump on a soap box and confess that the answer to every political failing is so very easy to see … blah blah blah.

Don’t ask me to register to vote. I’m not dodging jury duty. Or drafts. Or what-the-fuck-ever. I don’t register because I realize & accept myself as a non-informed individual. I trust the educated to choose the closest fitting individual for whatever office is open.

My oldest brother asked me today if I was going to vote and, more importantly in his view, WHO I’m voting for. I told him I’m not registered & haven’t ever voted. IT’S MY RIGHT TO MAKE THAT DECISION – NOT TO VOTE. He said he votes Republican. I had to ask him which candidate is Republican. Seriously.

Hello, My name is Triana & I live in America, where we have the CHOICE to vote. Or not to vote, for that matter.

I loathe the campaigns that stuff their views down my throat. Like me humbly saying, “no thanks, I’m not interested” is really a desperate cry for “I’m ignorant & retard; please save me by talking to me like I just crawled out of a box & don’t know how to wipe my own ass & I will surely succumb to sipping peas through a straw for the rest of my life if you don’t convince me that the other person running in this race is really the DEVIL.”

Whatever. I’d rather choke on something else please. Or just plain breathe for that matter. Shove your crap down someone else’s throat. It’s all bullshit anyway & I’ve kind of had my fill of the taste of shit in my mouth.

Caustic.

disasterless 9-26-08

A fucking disaster.
I’m peeking out.
Finding nothing.
Beaten & torn.

Disasterless.

reality's cruel trick

I am sad. I have nothing truly to be sad about. I’m healthy; my kids are smart & healthy. I’m lonely. I’m surrounded by loving friends & family. I’m out of control; but I’m in control. I’m tired. I get plenty of sleep. I’m bored. I spend my days doing basically whatever I want.

I didn’t shower for four days. I didn’t shave my armpits for close to two weeks. Gross, I know, but that’s how it was. The hairs in my armpits (armpips if you ask my 9 year old daughter) where so terribly long that I had to sleep with my blanket tucked into my armpits as protection from the stubble. I don’t think it would even qualify as stubble, it was a lil past that stage.

I read books all day long until time to pick the kids up. Then we would go on bike rides, just to make sure my blood still circulated, and to keep the kids busy.

I’ve been picking random books to expand my knowledge & pique my interests. I used to think that the type of books you picked out & read meant something about the person you were. As if your subconscious led you to the path you should be on by opening it to you in a book.

Ironically, the last two books I’ve read were “The Screwed Up Life of Charlie the Second” & “Vital Ties” – just random books I’ve caught glimpse of while perusing the library. The first is about a juvenile’s trip through his senior year & being gay. The second was a novel covering the life a women owning her own farm in the 1950’s thru the 1980’s - and being a lesbian.

Is my subconscious trying to tell me something???

Anyway, I’ve been showering & shaving my armpits. So I guess it’s all good. For now.

the good stuff

As we’ve already established on numerous occasions – I was a big time loser. Still am, but at least I accept myself as I am now. I hide from no one.

This past weekend April & I were out & about in the Fort Wayne local music scene. Randomly, a chick walked past our table. Not that either April or I spend our time looking at chicks, but we do both happen to have this odd thing about attention to detail. Stupid details even. Her tag was sticking up. It’s a pet peeve of mine. I didn’t know this about April, but apparently it’s one of hers as well.

Normally I’m a do-gooder that would just say, “hey you, hang on, your tag is sticking up”. This particular chick had her own nose so far in the air in her “holier-than-though” airs that I felt a lil relieved to know she wasn’t SOOOO perfect. I let her continue by without saying a word to her. April turns to me saying, “I wanted to fix her tag …” before she could finish I was giggling to myself. We had saw the same thing, and thought the same thing. In essence, made the same judgment.

The woman was oblivious to our laughter. It reminded me of a lil gag I used to pull in high school. Throughout my freshman year I became more & more social; growing out of my protective shell & actually experiencing life. By my sophomore year I had concocted THE FRIEND TEST.

I’m a fruit eater. Fresh fruit, preferably, which always comes with stickers. Chiquita stickers J I had a silly habit of peeling the sticker & placing it on the back of my shirt, as a lil prank on myself. If someone happened by & I saw them laughing at me, then I knew that person would never be friend quality. The people who told me about it or offered to remove it for me, those people were friend quality. I continued this game off & on throughout the years. It’s stupid, I know, but in high school you really need all the free entertainment you can get, right?

Welcome to my psyche.

Somewhere around junior year, my friend Pam & I were at a basketball game. JV girls were playing & Pamy & I were waiting for our Varsity team to get the signal that it was time to change into our uniforms. It was standard for the Varsity team to be pressed & dressed during the JV game and vice versa. So here we sit, wearing khakis & our embroidered CN Varsity basketball shirts.

Pam wasn’t in a very good mood that day. While at that time, I probably knew exactly what was causing her foul mood; I have since forgotten that useless piece of information. What I do recall is this: my best friend was sad. It was a sadness I couldn’t break through by smiling, laughing, joking or any other means. I was at my wit’s end. As my mind churned, I absently chewed on a piece of licorice.

I sometimes, well, usually, do things without actually letting the thought process run its full course. You know, leap before looking… I don’t do so well on that end of the thinking spectrum. Don’t even ask me how this next move ever entertained itself as an idea in my head. I will never have an answer for that!

I pulled the chewed up garbled mess of licorice out of my mouth & laid it on her leg. Her clean, pressed, khakis. Straight from my mouth, slobbery drool & all. I need to ride the short bus.

It was a flurry of reactions as she went from grossed out (who wouldn’t be), to pissed about what her mom would say about the stain on her pants (yeah, I could see that one too), and finally to just sheer laughter. She looked at me and told me that’s why she liked being friends with me. I was unconventional. I knew how to cheer her up at any cost. Yeah, I like being a dork. It’s so much easier than actually worrying about what other ppl think of you.

No worries though. That was an extreme situation. I normally keep my chewed up food in my mouth.

But don’t tempt me.

my dirty lil secret

I was thinking about this the other day after a conversation w/a friend. She said to me, something along the lines of, “Do you remember the time in high school that you tried to explain to me how you felt it was safer to stand back from life & watch it, rather than try to live it, so as not to ruin it? You know, how you had that enormous crush but would never dare to make it REAL” … I knew exactly what she was talking about.

It’s not as bad as it sounds. Really. It’s not a “this one time, at band camp”… but I am going to start out in grade school.

I was quiet. Nerdy. Ashamed of myself. Usually dirty; clothes, hair, skin. My then step-father had a thing about using too much water, even though we lived on a farm & had well water. Showers were limited to a weekly basis, instead of a daily basis. The laundry rarely got washed, because it too obviously used this “precious water”. Let me tell you, living on a farm did NOT provide for a wear-your-pants-multiple-times-between-washes atmosphere. Pretty much, as soon as you walked out of the house, you were dirty. Especially since we lived on a pig farm & I rode horses daily. This kind of crap didn’t go so well with the other kids at school. I was an outcast. I accepted it & never tried to change my “place” in life – always hiding in corners & being as unseen as possible.

When I was 13 my mom & step-dad split. We moved to a much smaller house on a few acres, still out in the country of course. I moved to a new school to start my high school days. I knew very few people in the entire school, so it was my chance to start over. And shower daily, by the way.

I made a few close friends in my first few months at CN; friends that still stand by my side to this day. By winter months I had come out of my shell enough to even try out for the school basketball team.

One of the few people I did happen to know prior to starting at CN was Randy. Let me rephrase that, “know” doesn’t exactly fit the bill here. I was captivated by him. He only knew I existed, and probably only ever viewed me as a pain in the whoo hoo. My mom was friends with his parents & had been for as long as I could remember. I held onto that child-like crush for years, and then suddenly I was attending the same school as him, even if only for his senior year.

I would sneak off during lunch to see him play basketball with his friends in the gym. My friends thought I was nuts. Maybe they were clued into something, even back then! J I would never breach the unspoken barrier between us. To attempt to make myself known to him was an open door for failure. No thanks.

When my mother would visit his parents, I would wait in the car, sometimes for hours, just to avoid the possibility that my dream would be ruined with reality. That he would laugh at me, or tell me to stop following him, or stop watching him. Luckily for me, he was quite on the shy side himself & never went out of his way to chastise me for being a silly young girl. He knew though. Our parents teased me about it.

I continued throughout the school year, watching from afar. Always trying to hide & seem unnoticeable. Threatening any of my friends that suggested I actually talk to him, or offer to talk to him for me. In my head, our relationship was perfect. Fairy tale. In real life, it was non-existent. I would never make a move that would jeopardize that non-existence. To me, it was more acceptable to fail at something knowing it never had the chance, than to fail at trying. Why take away that magical feeling? Ruin it with reality? It was easier to wish & dream than it would ever be to attempt to live in reality.

I wish I was still dreaming.

everyone loves hate mail

Welcome to my world!! This is the message sent to me by Mrs. Holly (Piper) Cambell this morning. She then called me, TWICE, and left a silly voice mail that she thought would intimidate me. Ha ha ha ha! I laugh! She obviously STILL doesn't understand who she's dealing with. Like I won't walk around w/a little egg on my face just to keep a permanant reminder open for her & the rest of the world to see how truly idiotic she is being. As many of you KNOW Jere for his TRUE self, this letter will be very entertaining. I am not afraid to open myself to the world. GOOD & BAD.

A tad background information: Holly was Jere's girlfriend before he moved to IN from NY. Now she feels her life is so upsetting that she must contact "old loves" (don't we all know how that one goes) to appologize for being a bitch in her teenage years. Ummm, hello? Jeremiah has fed her his usual stories of pity & she immediately takes bait. She has very little clue as to what is REALLY going on here, and it shows. Her accusations are so far off base, it's worth a good laugh.

Jeremiah is mad at me because I won't give him one more chance so he's feeding Holly more & more lies by the moment. Yes, I have issues. So does the rest of the world. It's nothing new.

Take a deep breath; you'll be trying to catch it after you read this shit!

unedited FROM HOLLY:

MY laptop is out of state getting fixed I am not welfare trash that has to go to the library to access the computer to try to validate her evil doings. I have two computers one of which is my children's yes my children have their own computer in their own room in a house that we own! And hey yea I have a van that has a CD player in it that is not hard wired to my cars battery! How about that one! Do you really think that Jen is not going to show me these messages or even the texts that you are sending her Come on get with it girl pull your head out of your fucking big ass and grow the fuck up! I am part of Jere's life and always will be to an certain extent sorry if you don't like it but OH THE FUCK WELL! I DO NOT WANT HIM! I DO NOT WANT THIS TRASHY DRAMA! I DONT NEED IT! SO KEEP IT UP SO JEN AND I CAN SIT BACK AND HAVE A BIG LAUGH AT YOUR EXPENCE! Thanks for the free freak show it has been very amusing so far cant wait to see what the next chapter holds. Jen and I have a bet that it includes another child coming out of the wood work :)HAVE A GREAT DAY AND ALSO WHILE YOU ARE AT THE LIBRARY ACESSING YOUR MYSPACE ACCOUNT YOU MAY WANT TO CHECK OUT THE BOOK "MAKING LOVE LAST FOREVER" BT GARY SMALLEY, IT MAY GIVE YOU A CLUE!HUG AND KISSES HOLLY :)

___________________________________________

Now my comments. First of all, her grammar & spelling are pathetic. I am not on ANY sort of welfare. I am currently tying on my laptop & I also have a home PC, both of which I maintain & fix myself. I take my children to the library on a weekly basis to enrich their lives with learning. I've owned TWO houses, at the same time, which I bought with my own money, not my husband's, boyfriend's, or any family member's. I currently RENT because I'm leaving the area!! DUH! I pay for more than just my own bills, without having a husband/boyfriend pay anything for me. While she is driving around upstate NY in her van I prefer to be healthy & ride my bike. My car is a piece of crap because I don't really give a shit about having a new one. I'm not materialistic like that. The radio/cd player WAS hardwired to the battery because my dumb ass ex husband wanted to suck up & put a new one in it but he didn't know how to do it the CORRECT way.

My big ass? Yeah, and then what? Seriously a case of the pot calling the kettle black. Like that reality is really going to hurt my feelings. And dear friend JEN keeps texting & calling me. Act like I don't know what's going on here. I'm an old pro at Jeremiah's games. She not the first tramp to text me, call me, or even email me. I was fully aware Jen would show Holly my messages, that's why I sent them to her!! It was Holly who became upset about the deal, sending me this msg & leaving nasty msgs on my voicemail.

And for someone who doesn't "want" Jere, she might want to reread all her messages to him over the last three weeks. According to Holly, Jere is the hottest man alive & she can't figure out why she doesn't love her HUSBAND like she "loves" Jeremiah. Ah, my dear woman, one day you will see the truth & feel as foolish as you sound right now.

Darling, wake up. It's not just you and Jen getting a good laugh. Thinking that you are anything at all to this man, or EVER WERE, now that's the laugh.

I don't need to check out any books on making love work. But for someone who's on the verge of filing for a divorce, I guess she would know which way to point me, huh? YOWZA!

I'm the freak show? LOL, whatevs. I only hope her children are greatful for the ammenties they have in their lives & don't grow into the monsterous bitch that she is currently exemplifying.

Oh looky there, I think I found my little feeling that was hurt. No wait, this is me, living in reality.

Keep barking bitch. You're at the wrong tree.

the wrong way

“Happy are you sad? Wanna shoot your dad? I’ll do anything you want. It was the wrong way.” Sublime

Ah, where have I been? The stories I could tell. But nay. I’ll leave the past where it belongs. As many of us should do, but all too often, don’t.

I’ve been doing a lot of bike riding lately, even though my box truck incident nearly cut my life expectancy short. I have a new bike by the way. It’s exactly the same as the old one, only it hasn’t tried to feed me to a moving vehicle. I think we’ll get along great, this bike & I. The evil bike spell has apparently been shuttered over to my daughter’s bike, as she cannot seem to stay upright on hers – and to my ex-husband’s bike, as it fully devoured his leg today.

I must say, it was a humorous sight to see! Even witnessing the whole incident from a mere 5 or 6 feet, I’m not sure exactly how it happened, only this:

Our oldest son lives completely in his own little bubble, oblivious to the entire world surrounding him. More so than most 8 year olds. He tends to weave vicariously around the road, sidewalk, or bike path no matter who else is riding alongside or behind him. Dad’s attempt to miss his rear wheel quickly turned into a bike gobbling session, of which dad’s leg became the loser.

I swear, the bike ate his lower leg! It was a contortionist movement that left Jere on the ground in disbelief, as he thinks he is invincible & “King of all things – including bicycles!” I, always being in the mood for a good hearty laugh, did just that – giggled in delight. Until I saw the blood spot on Jere’s sock & the ashen look on his face.

Crap. I can see what’s coming next. The pleading eyes. The helpless, pity look. He was going to nurse this one all the way to the bank. Or at least to the emergency room, since the bank doesn’t really give a shit about a nickel sized superficial wound on a grown man’s ankle.

He was ready for an ambulance. I was ready to leave him @ the park for the vultures. Unfortunately, the kids had both witnessed the aftermath of his crash so I couldn’t just leave him there for the homeless to pick apart. Damn the bad luck.

You seriously would’ve thought this man’s leg had just been blown apart by a land mine. By talking to him, that is. By looking actually looking at the “wound,” you’d think he was a nut case for making such a big deal out a little nick & scrape. Well, the nut case part is debatable. I’m hoping that our two levels of nut case cancelled each other out in our children’s DNA – otherwise, their screwed. But so far so good!

I left him at the park with the kids & started on my way home to get his truck. We had rode our bikes nearly 5 miles & I was supposed to pedal my hefty ass back as fast as possible to retrieve his precious truck & take him in for medical care. Amputate just below the head! Oooops, did I saw that out loud? My bad.

I intended on dropping him off & taking the kids home. Sure, I’d go pick him up & drop him off at his house when he was done. Change my life with good intentions. You should’ve seen the look of horror he gave me when I told him I would drop him off. “You’re not going to stay with me?” It’s Labor Day weekend, beautiful weather, yet I have to baby-sit a grown man convinced his life is ending because his foot hurts.

I could’ve more easily dropped a 5 year old off in a Nazi camp. Amazing. The pre-teen kid in the emergency room line ahead of us had a screw sticking out of his knee. Let me repeat. A SCREW STICKING OUT OF HIS KNEE. Yes, I can see how that is an emergency. And here I stand next to Jere, in a wheelchair, barely a drop of blood running down his ankle, and he thinks he’s dying. The guy behind the desk had to ask twice what was wrong with him.

The nurse tried to wash his foot & he made such a big fuss over the pain that he was in that she said she would wait until the Dr came in to numb it. He nearly fell out of the bed when he realized the Dr would use a needle to administer the lidocaine. The nurse adeptly looked back at him and said, “how many tattoos do you have?” He skillfully responded, “Yes, but I was lit up when I got each of them!”

*sigh*

Next comes the Dr asking routine questions. Last Tetanus shot? Ever had surgery or stitches? Any staff infections? You are NOT going to believe this answer… Jere honestly looks at the Dr and says, “Yes, when I had my hand operated on several years ago, I had a staff infection. I tried to figure out where the smell was coming from & thought it was just my feet” – as the Dr is holding his bare foot to check it over.

I died.

You don’t know your hand is infected because your feet smell so bad? And being around him when he takes his shoes off – I can totally see where that discrepancy could come from.

After the Dr’s exam, he instructed me to wash the remaining dried blood off the bottom of Jere’s foot. Knowing how much he HATES to have his feet touched and how he was fully convinced that his foot hurt SOOO badly, I jumped at the opportunity. Should’ve let the nurse do it! He was too afraid to tell the Dr that I was being rough & simply glared at me while gritting his teeth. Wuss.

I also took the liberty to poke at the road rash on his knee. The intern who was in the room when I did so looked at me with eyes his wide & said I was cruel.

Oh honey, you have no idea

the talk

My daughter is 9. Well, 9 and one quarter. Eons away from her teenage years. Or so her father & I would love to believe. This past summer she has put on some pudgy weight. Nothing major, but noticeable enough. A good growth spurt will kick her right through it. However, she is “developing” in some areas that we are NOT ready to deal with. I wish I were only talking about her mouth & attitude! The school shopping this year included a small array of camisoles, under tanks, and yes, a few bras.

She has been intensely cranky, irritable, and tired as of late. I had discussed this change in her attitude & body to a few close friends when one mentioned “the change”. Nope. No way. She’s too young. Besides, her father won’t allow it. That is exactly what he said when I mentioned the possibility to him the next day.

The following day after the discussion with him, he suggested I go to the library & get a few books for her to read. I replied that the kids each picked out two books a week. No, he says, not those kinds of books. The “change” kinds of books, with pictures.

Oh hell no. I may have never gotten the speech myself, and I may not be up for the parent of the year award, but my daughter is not just going to be handed a “book for further reading”. I told him I would have the talk.

A few days later we decided the talk would be best carried out if he took our son in one direction & I took our daughter in another during our evening bike ride. She immediately wants to know why her daddy was “sad looking” when we parted ways. “Because we have to talk about you growing up & daddy just doesn’t want you to grow up. He likes you to be his little girl”

“Oh” she says, “Yeah, he’s like that.”

So I started with, “Do you know what kind of changes your body goes through as you get older?” Just to feel out how much knowledge she had (school & friends – you never know what your child really knows!). She said yes, she knew. So I asked her to explain it to me.

“You get taller and fatter & your feet get big.”

It took a minute for me to get over that one. So the next question was, “What differences do you see between my body & yours, beside me being bigger?” “You have boobs.” Alright, now we’re getting somewhere. I explained the basics of hormones & the wondrous shit us women have to put up with. No, I wasn’t talking about men. That talk comes later. Years later.

Midway through, she’s pedaling along side me, looks over and says, “Besides, why are we having this talk? Is it because I’m getting older & growing up?” Yes, dear, that’s exactly why. Then, “Is daddy having a talk with Tyler too?” No, honey, he’s not ready for his talk yet.

I make clear that if her time comes when she is in school, to not get upset but seek out a female teacher that she is comfortable with & ask for help. If it happens when she is at her dads, to ask him to call me – cuz he will surely freak.

Next, our talk goes randomly into babies. This does not come about in the way you would expect it to from such a talk. She went into body parts that get bigger when you grow up and teeth happened to be one of those parts she listed. Which then became, “babies can’t talk when they’re born because they have no teeth.” To this I replied, “no, babies can’t talk when they’re born because they haven’t learned to talk yet.”

“Oh, so babies can’t talk because they’re not born with any smarts?”

Close enough.

Can I just be 9 and be naïve again??

deceit

I sometimes have a hard time understanding family dynamics, as mine is fully dysfunctional. In October of 1997 I started dating the father of my oldest two children. It soon became the messiest relationship I have ever been thru. Only to get extremely worse. I am a trusting & forgiving person. He fed off of this. I often became plagued that his family would stick up for his actions, would cover for him, would even encourage him.

These people took me in immediately. Nicknamed me “Skippy” (come on, I was 17!!). Treated me like part of the family. I was sooo hungry for a family. I bought into every last word, each fake smile, and every emotional hug. I couldn’t have been more wrong. It took 11 years to figure that out, and even then, only with the help of a new “family”.

It took 11 years to figure out that some families, no matter how severely dysfunctional, will still always be family. No outsiders allowed. That’s ok by me, finally, because I’d rather NOT be included in the dysfunction, since I have so much of it naturally on my own!

I could never figure out why it was so easy for each of them to lie to me. They KNEW the truth; I was not a complete fool. Only partial. Because I wanted so desperately for the life that him & I had to be different from what he was making it. I was a fool for thinking it would be. But I am not a fool for stopping it now.

Over these 11 years, I have grown wiser (I’d like to think, but most likely will look back @ myself and laugh hysterically). It’s a bond that most sisters & brothers, mothers & fathers, sons & daughters have with each other; the ability to accept each member as they are, without judgment. Without hypocrisy.

While I still feel obliged NOT to be a part of that family, I do understand the family love that would allow each member to commit such deceit & dishonesty. Someday, I will look back at them & smile.

Because somewhere there is a true family, one that doesn’t HAVE to allow lying, stealing, cheating & all that comes with those things, as normal behavior.

As acceptable.

Somewhere, there is something better.

simple

“Simple, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. It is dependent on what an individual can or can’t understand, accept, and/or handle as a part of their life’s story.”
-April Gerard, Whitley County Habitat for Humanity, best friend for more than half my life. Quoted on 8-31-08

This is the response I get when I question life. That some days it is so very difficult to pick my head up & take another mere step; yet other days seem to float by in fairy dreamland. My wistful ponderings, hoping & wishing that each day could be so easy, so ‘simple,’ lead to this discussion. The conversation then turns to being able to take one’s own advice & finally, into “Life’s happiness is followed by life’s misery – hand in hand. Take the bad with the good. But what to do if the bad outweighs the good? And who is in charge of the measuring? HOW do we measure?”

Who has these answers? Why even ask the questions?? Instead, we each swallow the doubt and go on to face another uncertain day. Is it really all that bad? How many times have I thought to myself, “I can NOT live another day like this; there is NO point”. Yet here I am – mostly thanks to some very supportive, very watchful BEST friends. As I sit here, I look back at what I have ‘suffered’ through & now simply wonder what it was at that moment that made it seem like the end.

I am cursed by my own nature. My own strength & my own stupidity combined. It is the balance of the universe, of life. Opposites must come together to make a whole.

On occasion I haphazardly walk thru the library picking up books, flip thru to the mid-section of the book & start reading. If that particular paragraph can hold my attention onto the next paragraph, I’ll check it out & read it at home. Often in one night. Once something catches my attention I have a very difficult time putting it down. Last week I picked up a book titled “Tethered” by Amy MacKinnon. It turned out to be a very grotesque book; a suspense/thriller/mystery revolving around a mortician that graphically detailed death & it’s ‘after components’. I had no idea, when I read a random chapter, that this book detailed what I have been so carelessly struggling with recently. The last line in the book is merely “I chose to breathe.”

Do I? Do I choose to breathe? Am I tethered to life?

Aimlessly.

my bike fed me to a box truck

I took my car home today. I despise having my car when it's a b-e-a-utiful day and I should be cruising on my bike. I guess my bike decided I need to repent for driving my car yesterday; it tried to feed me to a box truck. Specifically what happened was this: I wanted to ride my bike the approx ten miles to my brother's house. Five blocks away from my house, the side walk is tore up. It's a bridge over an old rail road track, right next to a nice lil pub tucked into the hill side. There's a sign at the beginning of the bridge that has a picture of a bicycle & says, "share the road" so I aptly pedal off the sidewalk and down on the road to cross the bridge seeing as how the side walk is tore the fuck up with big chunks of concrete everywhere.

I make it across the bridge and am now set to cruise d...o...w...n the hill. Some of those massive chunks of concrete where strewn alongside the edge of the road where I was attempting to travel. I'm keeping an eye on traffic & on the horrendous chunks of killer concrete when the sewer drain that I'm biking by grabs my front tire. So two seconds into my cruise down the hill, my bike pitches me INTO traffic, which to my fucking fortune is a damn BOX TRUCK.

Let me repeat this: MY BIKE THREW ME ONTO THE ROAD WHERE A BOX TRUCK WAS SET TO RUN ME OVER, sans 1000 pound armor that I would've enjoyed at the moment. I have asphalt stuck under my fingers nails; it was like s-l--o---w motion. The bike pitching me sideways, the box truck brakes screeching, my nails digging into pavement to keep my fat ass from sliding/rolling under a miniature semi.

My efforts prevailed as I was able to stop sliding in time to roll the other direction, narrowly missing the tires of previous mentioned BOX TRUCK. My bike twitches as the truck runs over the rear tire. I grabbed the bike, THREW it to the sidewalk and did this awful hands/knees scuffle in the same direction that I tossed my bike.

Long story short (yeah right!), my right leg is scuffed up, bruised, I have pavement embedded into my thigh, and welts down my calf muscle. My bike suffered a few nicks to the paint, a tear in the seat, and the handle bars were turn about 30 degrees. The rear wheel has a funky wobble to it.

But fuck all that 'cuz I'M STILL IN ONE PIECE! Do you count that?? ONE piece. Not multiple. Not broken. Just bumped and bruised and shaken to hell. Every muscle in my body feels like I just received ten hours of electroshock therapy but at least I can FEEL my body!


The first person I called while sitting alongside the sidewalk willing my heart to stop pounding and fighting back tears just from extreme shock, was Jeremiah. He was immediately angry at the truck driver for not "sharing the road". But hon, he did share the road, he just didn't expect me to be flung into the middle of it. As soon as the conversation got to the point where he was satisfied that I wasn't maimed, he gave a stiff "fine" and then *click* ~ we were back to our old fighting selves.


Knowing me, I'm a firm believer of "if you fall off the horse, get your ass back on" philosophy. I'm stubborn and pigheaded. So when I'm scraped up, five blocks away from home & on my way to my brother's house almost 10 miles away, I get on my bike & continue in the direction of my goal.

My bike chirped at me for several miles. The front tire rubbed because the brake was smooshed against it from "the incident" and the back tire was ever so slightly bent due to the sheer weight of a BOX TRUCK running over it (I could only hope that such would have been my fate if I had been actually run over by the truck).


I am sore as crap and it's only been a few hours. I can only imagine what i'm going to feel like in the morning!!

starting over new

Ok, it's been awhile. traumatic things have been happening. Ehhh, what's new? Every time I sit down to write, the numerous comments roll through my head about "how negative & cranky" I've been. In an attempt to not sound grouchy, I just didn't write. I've come to the conclusion that this is my life. Cranky, grouchy, tired, absolutely insane: it's MINE. So I'm going to write about it, mostly 'cuz it makes me feel better to get my thoughts out.

My oldest two kids have been in KY with their Aunt Candi since June 14th. While I don't see eye to eye with Candi on almost anything anymore, the kids have a great time with her & she takes good care of them.

Thursday morning I get a phone call from the owner of the bar that I was working at, to tell me that I was no longer "needed". It's summer and there are young, hot college girls wanting to make some easy money before going back to school for the fall. Therefore, my nine months of hard work, being the only waitress that stuck it out for the winter, working open to close six days a week, counts for abso-fucking-lutely NADA. I'm discarded for my age and over weight status. N.I.C.E.

My living arrangement with the kid's father was only tolerable because I was gone at night, when he was home, and he was gone during the day, while I was home. Granted, I love this man, against every common sense fiber in my body, I always will. But he has the innate ability to make me want to become the worst of people. The things I contemplate doing to myself when I'm forced to tolerate his almighty-pity-me-because-I-am-trying-so-hard-but-life-is-overwhelmingly-complicated whining and attitude, well, I can't even explain here without having every friend I've ever met come scoop me up and deposit me in the Parkview Behavioral Health Department ASAP.

I've spent Thursday, Friday, & Saturday with this man at work during the day and only home with me for a short time in the evening before I manage to scoot out of the house for a small bit of time lest I pull my hair out in raging fits. Sunday we both slept until noon. He left the house right after he awoke to run some errands and arrived back home a lil after 1:30. We had planned a bike ride together for some fresh air and exercise. Within ten minutes of him arriving home, I was reading to strangle, it didn't matter if it was going to be him or I, one of us had to shut the hell up. I gave in, shut the bedroom door and laid on the bed for 30 minutes. Finally I emerged and sat on the couch while he played video games.

Within an hour he decided it was time to start the petty lil arguments and see just how far he could push me. I tolerated it for as long as possible, rotating between blatantly ignoring him & snapping back comments when I couldn't resist. That last all of two nano seconds before I packed an overnight bag and headed out leaving him with strict instructions to LEAVE ME ALONE.

I haven't driven my car in weeks. Not only does it save me money, I'm trying to get this fat ass into shape by walking & biking everywhere I go. Today it's raining, so I head for the car.

My tags are expired by twenty-something days. I gave Jere $90 last month to get tags on his truck, which he has yet to repay. I realized, as I'm mulling the situation over in my head, that the bureau is closed on Mondays. And, I'll need my insurance card to take along which I casually noticed a CANCELLATION notice for our policy in Jere's papers last week. It was his month to pay, I should've KNOWN better than to rely on him.

:(

As usual, I have to dip into my savings to cover the insurance & tags. If he would've held up his end of our deal I would have my $90 to get my own car plates and I would have insurance!! And he wonders why I'd rather chew my own leg off than sit in a shoe box house for an evening with him.

I haven't put gas in my car since June 4th, the day I drove home from our KY visit. Of course now that it's raining & I want to get across town to my brother's house for the night, my car gas tank registers E.M.P.T.Y.

Inside the gas station where I have to prepay, there are two lines, both with two customers. I randomly choose the line on the right. I was sooooo wrong. As soon as I solidify my decision, the cashier politely says, "I'll be right back" and leaves her post. Great-O. The woman in front of me is scratching lottery tickets in line. Weird.

The first guy in the left lane apparently cannot speak a normal sentence; he is so fricken jolly that he sings everything. And he doesn't shut up. I want to stab him with a spoon. The guy behind him is looking pretty hot. But he's gay. Rats. Finally my cashier comes back - I'm ready to go postal. The lottery ticket shithead in line in front of me ... she is the type that spends her entire paycheck on lottery tickets by buying $50 worth, going directly to the end of the line & scratching tickets as she works her way back up to the cashier to cash in winning tickets for more tickets. She will NOT get out of the way as she's mentally counting how many tickets she's had from each variety and which one's she wants to get next. I feel my breathe getting shallow & it's increasingly harder to control the urge to start screaming all the insane antics that were rolling through my already overwhelmed & emotional head.

I finally get my turn & ask for $20 on pump #3. The clerk cheerfully asks for my Speedy card. I have no card. I've been in this Speedway eleven thousand trillion times & always answer that I have no Speedy card. It is at this exact moment that she feels she needs to offer me a Speedy card ~ like she doesn't see the lasers getting ready to shoot from my eyes or the whisps of smoke that are puffing up from my hair as I attempt to keep from spontanious combustion.

Me: No thanks. (forced smile)

Clerk: But it...

Me (cutting her off): I don't care, I'm in a hurry (wildly flashy my eyes like I might whip out my great kung fu skills and forever maime everyone around me).

I turned and bolted for the door. I wanted to go from laser eyeballs to a sobbing lump of baby watching the gas pump. $20 and I don't even get 5 gallons. LESS THAN FIVE GALLONS!! This is why I ride my bike daily.

I know at my brother's house they are always trying to stuff me with food, but I find it insanely rude to expect a meal when I get there so I stop for a light snack at wonderful world of McD's. As I pull from the order stand to the payment window, my brain starts ticking... the price just didn't seem quite right. I know that the tax rate has risen from the 5% that I remember just a few years back, but I don't know exactly what it's up to now. I get out my handy dandy phone, use the calculator on it, and WHAM-O ~~ a whopping EIGHT percent!! I'm fervently hopping that the McD's employees are just idiots. 8%???? *sobbing*

I have a ghetto-white-trash car. The radio is hard wired to the battery. Lucky me. I turn it on to drown out the chaos that is my current state of mind. I hear Drew Cage talking about Bear on the Square. He mistakenly says, "Wednesdays from 11:30 to 1:00 AM. I'm a dork and yes, I catch these things. In my twisted head I think it would be funny to call in and correct him, just to have a lil fun at someone else's expense. It's harmless. Pathetic? Maybe. But at this moment anything is entertaining to me, so fuck you.

Busy signal. Busy signal. Busy signal. A dozen times, I got a busy signal. My husband can call a dozen times a day to win monsterous prizes off of every radio station known to man when a gorzillion other listeners are calling in. If someone says be the 15th caller, he will be caller #1, #4, #8, #11 & #15. I can't even get through during a non-busy calling time just to make fun of the show host.

Grumpy or not, I'm writing about whatever. Everything possible. If you happen to read something in here that is nameless, but you know it's about you, shut up. At least I didn't call you out on your stupid ass shit by name :)~

Much love to all!

family trees (or flow charts)

Answering questions about my family can be complicated at times. I may introduce someone as my cousin & get "oh, I can see the family resemblance!" Well, you're wrong. There really is no family connection. But that's not any of your business & I don't want to explain it. Not at that moment anyway. My cousin might actually be my brother & sister's cousin, and not technically mine. Personally I'm not a big fan of technicalities.

Families are complicated. Not like how they used to be.

Technically, I am the only off spring from the exact combination of my biological mother & father. But to say that I have no full brothers or sisters, as the politically correct term, is just bull shit. Family is what you make of it. If you go around calling everyone one your half, step, in-law, former, or whatever correct term may be, that's all your going to end up with. A bunch of half, almost, kind-of-sort-of crap.

All of my brothers & sisters have other brothers & sisters that I'm not biologically related to. Some of whom I grew up with as brothers/sisters, and some I have only met in recent years as adults.

The family I grew up with as a child is not the same family that I have now. My mother & adopted father divorced when I was 13 & I have not spoken to the adopted side of the family until this year - almost 15 years later. We'll call this side family A. I met my biological dad & older brother when I was 13, the same year I was emancipated. We'll call this family B. I consider everyone in both family groups to be my family. Well, mostly. I guess I could make a few exceptions :)

Then there's the complication of me being in the middle. Solo. My mom had five children. Two by her first husband. Me (never married my dad). And then two more by her last husband. There are 10 & 11 years between me & my oldest siblings and 5 & 6 years between me & the youngest siblings. That's a whopping 17 years between the two sets. And me in the middle.

The oldest set have younger brothers & sisters through their dad's side of the family. And it's the same with the youngest set. The older set & the younger set don't really communicate much. I do a lot of running back and forth, relaying information about how each "side" is. But really I just want everyone to be one big unit. Is that too much to ask??

Now, my children are going through the same exact issues. They have brothers & sisters everywhere. In several different states. Some older. Some younger. Some in pairs. Some solo. Some that know & some that don't.

I speak from experience: Reproduction should be limited :)~

As I struggle to keep my wits about me with family A, family B, older set & younger set, I can see that it will be the same for my own children as they now have extended, split, complicated family trees.

I hope that it doesn't take them long to figure out that family is family & love is love - regardless of the ties and stigmas that may come along. Enjoy what you have, every sweet moment, and every hard trial. Family is not only what you allow it to be, but also what you encourage it to be.

selfish and insecure

That's me. Selfish. Insecure. Spoiled even. Ok, maybe not so much "spoiled" - but more of a "I've been through too much to really give a shit about anything, so I'm easily pleased" spoiled sorta way.

I want to say fuck it. I want to give up everything. I want to stop hurting. I want to let go. All these "I wants" and yet they're not getting me anywhere. I'm still here. Right here. In the same hell. Only hell doesn't exist. So now what?

Constantly lost.

It doesn't matter what job you have. What city you live in. Who your friends are. Or how many you have. In the end, all you have is yourself. Alone.

But not alone. Because everyone else is exactly the same as you. In moments. In lifetimes. In reality.

Maybe... ok, so not everyone lives in reality, completely. But the big picture is still the same.

The problem is, I hate my life. And I am the only one that can change that. I haven't. Sometimes I think it's because I am just too lazy. Too complacent. Too afraid, maybe? Hold on! ME? AFRAID of change??

I really think I'm just too lazy. Fooled by my own self esteem. Thinking that I'm in control when I'm really just letting go of the wheel. Careening downstream with no direction. Yet not really even moving. Cause here I am. Still HERE.

I'm such an oxymoron. A complete conudrum of idiocracy.

Do I have reasons to be morose & moody? Ehh. I could argue a few points. But the real answer is no. N - O . Everyone deals with the same world. It is what you make of it.

.... Right? .....

Look at what I've let it become.

love and reality

*sigh*

Love. What kind of bullshit is that anyway? Games. Two people never on the same page. Never on the same level. I love you more. No, I love you more. Never ending. Yet always the same. Bullshit. Some magic spell. A feeling. For a moment. No more. Fairy dust.

I'm not special. I may not always be typical, but I'm not really any different. Really. It's a complicated thing to explain.

Guys think that women are so complex. So difficult. What's the big deal? It's really cut and dried, if you just look at it from the right angle. It's not so complicated. Really.

Ok, so my point is this: the temporary emotional lust, or even the strong initial connection between two poeple is not love. "Love" is just a joke. A cruel trick of reality.

So I'm on a rant. I'm sick of being treated as some "treasure" that every random idiot believes he discovered. I didn't fall from the sky. I wasn't hiding in a cave for 28 years. I wasn't locked up in a convent. I've been here. Living a problematic life. All along.

Guys even have the nerve to talk about me while I'm sitting right next to them. With their guy friends. With their family. On the phone. It doesn't matter. Each thinking he's found some "diamond in the rough". "Oh, I met this great girl. She's so AWESOME." I'm never going to meet your friends. Definitely not your family. Nor will I probably ever talk to you again.

And then there's the talking to me like he's going to "save" me. "I know you've had some troubles. I can see it in your eyes. Into your soul." Puh-lease! I can't even contain an eye roll at that line.

And what does this poor idiot really know about me? NADA. Two minutes and you think you know me?? A few months seeing me at work and you've got me figured out? HA! Good luck with that. You're not even worth wasting my breathe to tell you to fuck off. Each one of you.

Here's the reality: I work in a bar. As a waitress. It's my JOB to charm you. To smile pretty. To bat my eyes. To laugh at your RETARDED jokes. To feign interest in whatever monstorous subject you happen to allow your pea-sized-penis-ruled brain to twist out at a moments notice.

So don't try to make flirtatious eye contact when your girl isn't looking. I'll do it, when she's looking. And it won't mean a damn thing. Don't ask for my number. I'll laugh at your face. Then turn and saunter away. Don't try to brush past me; like making contact with any part of my body is suddenly going to make me fall madly for you in one night. I'm so over that. I'll shove your sorry ass out of my way. And I will smile sweetly as I mockingly appologize.

I'm very good at my job. I play a great game.

:)~

questioning the crazies

Am I really crazy? I cannot begin to count the number of times in the last few months that I've been called crazy. Not in that friendly laughing, "girl, you're crazy" tone, rather the condecending, disbelieving, mouth agape look that one give's in rare times of really seeing another's soul & deep inner workings.

Yeah. SO?

Fucking ppl drive me insane. Calling me all the time. Wanting irrational things from me.

Stupid ass questions. What are you doing? Can you take me to do laundry? Can you come pick me up (At 3am) so we can sleep in a tent (in 40 degree weather) even though you have to be awake at 6am? Can you take me to the court house? Can you help me see my children? If your going to buy a different car, can I have yours? Can you give me a ride? What was this morning about? Why are you being so nice to me? Do you want this saddle to hang on your wall? What do you think I should do about Mike? Why do you put up with him? How many times a day do women like to have sex? Why don't you come work for me on the Wave Source Chair venture? Why do you work in a bar when you're so much smarter, you have so much potential?

Maybe because I fucking want to. Maybe because in this unforgiving world that forsaken venue full of assholes makes me feel sane. Because I want to. And I will never be able to explain that to you.

I'm so tired of questions. Always wanting answers that I don't have. Ridiculing the answers I do have.

Fuck you.

You know who you are.

innebriation takes hold

Ah, yes, I'm back. The old "buzzing" me that used to fill out late night myspace bulletin/questionaires because life has my brain tpo scrambled to sleep so I put on a quick buzz. And ramble.

I'm a true light weight though. I'm stumbling fuzzy after 3 bud lights. That should tell you something. No shots. No hard liquor. Just an hour and half with 3 beers. $4.50 has me toasty warm and ready to ramble my heart out. (It's $1.50 beer night at Brass Rail - which i didn't know until I got there because I've never been there.)

In the five whole minutes that it took me to get home, I thought about words that I've heard ppl use to describe me lately. I'm really taking a good hard look at myself because the person I see is so obviously NOT the person everyone else sees. That really makes me think. HARD.

Stubborn. Strong willed. Loud. Other words that I cannot put here. Hmmm, maybe its true. I am all of these things. But I didn't used to be, so when did it change? How did I become who I am now? At least that much I can answer, but it doesn't need to be answered because anyone who knows me knows full well that answer.

I'm not going back though. So if you don't like me now, you either need to change your opinion or change our friendship status, because here I am people. Simple & complicated rolled into one lil neat & messy ME.

Undefinable. Unforgetable. And if there were such a word, un-understandable.

above all else, TRUTH

Written Saturday, March 8, 2008.

"The mind can be selfish and unforgiving and thoughts have no threshold for sensitivity. Thoughts are immmature, and a mature thought is merely an afterthought. Subconscious thoughts are even more devastating. The subconscious, the father of the conspiracy, can warp imaginations and twist a normal human being into a cynical sociopath." ~Rajen Persaud

So here I am. Honest and Open. Unappreciated for the pure simple honesty that everyone thinks they want, but in reality cannot handle. The cynical sociopaths.

Greedy little bastards. You want and want and want. Take all that is offered and still expect more. Evil angels, expecting everything, wanting it ALL but not seeing what is there.

Using the excuses that I've heard so many times. Just now realizing how selfish you've been.

I've told you that I was selfish. I don't deny who I truly am inside. You told me to throw away my mirror.

I've told you intimate details. Everything there is to know. You told me I was wrong. Because you only saw what you wanted. The potential. Not the reality.

Have you had enough?

pink hair and cowboy boots

This was written February 29th. Blog spot was giving me issues so I posted it on myspace. I've decided to move it here where it belongs, even though it's out of order...

My hair is now brown. It was pink. Kinda orange too. With blonde streaks....

Ok, so let me explain. Two months ago I used a hair color that must've been WAYYY too old 'cuz it turned my hair a moldy green color instead of the ash blonde that it describe on the box. My remedy to that was to bleach it as white as I could get it. Then, my roots turned an almost golden orange for a few days. The rest of my hair was fried. Beyond "hair" recognition.

This past Wednesday morning I get up & decide I want to go strawberry blonde for awhile. Well, my fried hair decided it wanted to be pink, orange, and streaky blonde. Not cool for a 28 year old going to job interviews. I had to go to a salon & have it "fixed". She said it would take two sessions & at least $80 for a correct fix. I said fuck that, as long as it's not orange or pink I don't care what color it is! So, it's now two toned, copper roots & the rest is ash colored. Ahhh me! I shouldn't be allowed to spend my own money. It's hazardous!

Lately I've been randomly meeting people from past parts of my life. Tuesday night I ran into a girl that I went to CN with. I don't remember her, she doesn't remember me, but we know some of the same people so we chatted all night at work. Nice to chat about some of the same peeps.

Wednesday I literally ran into a guy at King Gyros. I stopped & had to blurt out, "Didn't you go to 'Busco? And didn't you go to church at Sugar Grove?" Oddly enough, I was right. I even remembered his name was Andy. But that was all I could remember. And he had no idea who I was. So the conversation ended & I went on my quirky little way.

Thursday as I walked into work my boss says, "Hi Triana, how was your day?" ~ his usual greeting. I go into the kitchen, punch in & grab my daily "paperwork" to get started. I hadn't noticed a new customer sitting midway down the bar; just the usuals sitting at my end of the bar. Out of no where she loudly asks "hey, did you go to 'Busco?" (Must be a good line ...) I replied with a "kind of..."

This is where it gets good.

She tells me that her & I used to be BEST friends; that her mom has a picture of us in the second grade together on the swing set. She tells me her name. NOPE. Not ringing a bell. I have a very good memory, especially if I actually had a friend in grade school. I would remember that shit.

Are you still reading? 'Cuz it gets better.

I said, nope, you must have the wrong chic. She says in a matter-of-fact tone, "I've never heard anyone else with that name" (good point) "and you used to have blonde hair, so blonde it was almost white" (yes, up until yesterday...) "and you used to wear cowboy boots to school everyday."

Uh oh. I ducked behind the bar, red faced, as at this point all eyes are on me & everyone is chuckling. The sort of slow rumbling chuckle that quickly bursts into all out laughter.

It was momentarily almost like one of those dreams where you walk into school and everyone is laughing, then you realize they're laughing AT YOU 'cuz your naked.

I was just stripped of my self confidence. For one quick minute, I was flushed back into the painstaking embarrasment of elementary school. Of the geeky, shy, nerd that hid in the shadows of Churubusco's halls for nine precious years, afraid to be noticed lest I be shoved into yet another locker or beat up in gym class or laughed at for wearing cowboy boots to school. Thanks mom.

This time though, I stood up to the laughter. Yes, that was me. I wore boots.

Cruel irony: Now the guys think it's hot & want me to wear boots to work. Yowza! That would hurt like hell & I would slip all over that damn tiled floor at work!

I was even asked if I would wear cowboy boots to bed! Life never makes sense.

incites to a random me

I don't drink coffee. I don't really like chocolate. I don't really eat berries. But there is an unexplainable comfort in holding a cup of steaming hot chocolate raspberry latte between my hands and breathing in the enticing aroma. Somehow the combination of such unlikely ingredients soothes my soul in a way that nothing else can. Well, maybe somethings can, but not on a rainy/snowy April afternoon. It's a winter remedy.

I'm sitting alone in a local coffee shop. It's Sunday afternoon. I need a few moments to think about who I am. Where I'm going. But most importantly, Who I want to be and who I am capable of being.

On one of my "friend's" blogger site she did an update on her goals that she set earlier this year - a retrospective measurement of how well she was doing at accomplishing her goals. I need goals. I've never been a goal setter. It's an issue that I've constantly been criticized for. So here's my solution: I'm going to start setting goals. My first will be this: to work on a set of goals.

Wow, I'm such an over achiever.

My issue is this: in my mind, goals have parameters. Parameters are, in a sense, limitations to my freedom. As I have stated before, I have a serious fear of gravity, anything that might hold me down. To you readers I might sound insane or just plain stupid, but it's one of those irrational fears, like being claustrophobic. Yes, rationally I completely understand that goals are flexible, but they are just not ME. So I'm going to spend some time trying to ever-so-slowly alter this character flaw. In the end, it might not be a flaw at all. But I'll never know if it could help me be a better version of myself until I try it. Wish me luck...

Traditionally, I have scooted through life day-to-day. Bumping and scraping along life's barriers; testing the strength of natural limits. (I'm going for a 'scrape-ing' and not a 'scrap-ing' in that previous sentence & can't decide which one actually has two p's, in case anyone noticed. It's been a long day & my head is aching. Have you ever stared at a word for so long that it begins to look foreign?? I'm giving up on it.)

detours

I had a lunch date today. Not exactly a "date". Well, not a date by any means other than setting a specific time & place for two people to meet. There was nothing romantic or date quality about it. Just a nice, quick lunch. Trying to mend a friendship. Actually, trying to resume other friendships & this one is the key. So, I'm trying.

I am so chaotic. Thoughts scrambled. Jumping here & there. Randomly.

I'm scared to death. It has nothing to do with lunch & everything to do with life. Lunch was a detour.

sadness

I'm sorry. I've been unable to blog. I just can't get anything out. For awhile I was blogging like a madman, pouring out more than I could fit into two, sometimes even three blogs a day.

Now I'm saddened by life. Bottling up emotions that I can't seem to release. Full of anger & pain.

Thank you to those of you who are hanging in there for me. I know you will be there for me when I fall to pieces.

stop hurting

I am missing out. I found something that made me feel accepted & whole. A level I have always dreamed about but never found. It has been ripped away from me.

I can only sit on the outside & watch, catching scraps. Catching nothing of what is really going on inside.

My heart is aching. I am angry.

It is a quiet meeting place. A place of sharing. Acceptance. One-ness. And I am unacceptable.

ending the madness

One night I had two interesting men come into the bar. They were middle aged. Trailer park. Worn leather jackets. I'll fitting clothes. And drunk. After pitcher #5 they were starting to fight with each other.

Ugh.

I listen for a minute & then open my mouth. 'Cuz that's what I do.

One guy is loud, abnoxious, and going on and on about how he wants to leave his wife of 14 years but he thinks he can't because she has threatened suicide. The friend, amazingly also roomate to this mess, is obviously torn up because he so desperately wants his buddy to be happy, but buddy is a non-listener.

Loud mouth keeps going on and on, first telling me (like I asked for any of his input) the abc's of life. Take responsibility for your own Actions, Behaviors, and Choices.

Interesting.

Ten mins later he is all but crying about how he wants to leave his wife. Because they fight, they are just not compatible. He gloats about having "ten" police officers at his trailer last weekend to take his shot gun away from him. He pulls up his sleave and proudly displays angry red scars running up and down his right arm saying that he asked his wife to leave, threatening his own life if she did not.

I literally rolled my eyes & shook my head.

He left to use the rest room & I took the opportunity to talk to his friend for a few. Firstly, if he really intended to take his own life, cops would not have been there in time. It was all show. A pitiful cry for help. And his friend took it as a blow to their friendship that suicidal would attempt it in front of him.

I know this from personal experience, both sides of the fence. You cannot save everyone. You CANNOT save anyone that doesn't want to save themselves. You will destroy yourself trying to force the change. They have to be willing to take the step, even the smallest step, forward.

I'm sure karma will bite me in the ass for this. In fact, I'm 100% positive. In watching these two men quible, I wonder if this is what my own pitiful life looks like from the outside.